


A Shadow of a Life

by M_A_Loki



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 05:40:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19222756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_A_Loki/pseuds/M_A_Loki
Summary: Rhysand returns home after Under the Mountain, but living is hard.





	A Shadow of a Life

**Author's Note:**

> This is set pre-ACOTAR, shortly after Rhys returns home once Amarantha has been defeated.

Rhys slept for four days straight, the constant breeze soothing him when he woke from nightmares. Mor sat beside his bed, her gentle presence a balm to his terror when he forgot where he was.

Because no, it did not seem real—rather it seemed like he would open his eyes and be back under the mountain, open his eyes and find ruby hair brushing the sheets, a naked body sprawled across the pillow beside him.

And between nightmares and memories, he couldn’t escape the emotions Feyre flung down the bond, the emotions and the images and the sounds, and so he laid in his bed and did not move.

He wanted to, wanted to jump out the window and feel the crisp kiss of air on his wings, he wanted to walk the cobblestone streets of Velaris and see his brothers.

He wanted to scream and weep,

To spend a hundred years in the Illyrian Steppes relieving the ache of his rage in the blistering cold, steel against steel.

But he just slept.

And four days after he crash landed on Mor’s rug, she shook him awake, not phased by the way he recoiled from the touch he couldn’t recognize half-asleep.

“Cassian and Azriel are here. They refused to wait any longer, so get your ass out of bed.”

“No.”

“You listen well, cousin.” Her voice, knife sharp, forced him to sit up and rub the sleep from his eyes. “We have given you time, to rest, and I know of course that four days is not long enough for you to recover from whatever horrors you endured. But please, come, they have not seen you in 49 years, Rhysand.”

He pressed his hands to his head, and surveyed the pale skin of his arms. Pale, from nearly half a century without seeing the sun.

The same sun that spilled across him now, that beckoned to him with warm fingers and beautiful light.

“Just give me a few minutes.” He spoke at last.

“If you’re not out in half an hour, I’m coming back in.” Mor offered him a teasing smirk and swept out of his room.

In all honesty, he was nervous to see his brothers.

He’d trapped them in Velaris for fifty years, which no doubt angered them.

He’d become something of a shadow of himself, now that he was free. No longer forced to be a monster. No longer forced to be a whore. But unable to be the male he once was.

He was pale, and though he’d tried to keep up his strength Under the Mountain he most definitely hadn’t been able to train Illyrian style.

He was pale and weak and the thought of having to leave the safety of his blankets and look his brothers in the face and try to pretend that he wasn’t falling apart—he was exhausted already.

But he was nothing if not good at putting on masks.

So he stood up, and breathed in.

He bathed as quickly as he could, and dressed in a comfortable tunic and pants, and stepped into the hallway before he could convince himself to get back in bed.

Each step to him closer to where he could feel his family, sitting in tense silence. He could feel Morrigan’s bright spirit and Cassian’s fiery will and Azriel’s quiet power.

He didn’t need to break through their shields to feel the emotions rising off of them. Anger. Worry. Sadness.

He could almost reach out and grasp their despair in his hands.

And he could smell them. The two Illyrians smelling of snow and pine trees, of steel and sweat, but each subtly different.

The smell of home, and his heart fractured more, though how that was possible, he did not know.

He finally reached the end of the hall and emerged into a sitting room, the space wide open, and Cassian jumped up from his chair.

Rhys didn’t have time to think before he was being crushed between two arms, and into a chest of stone. He didn’t need to think before he wrapped his arms around his commander just as tightly.

“Damn it, Rhysand.” Cassian hissed, as his fingers dug into the fabric of Rhys’ tunic.

Rhys sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes suddenly stinging, “It’s good to see you, Cass.”

They released each other a moment later and Rhys turned towards the Shadowsinger, who was standing by with the barest hint of a smile.

His smile turned to a grin as Rhysand rushed forward and grabbed him tight.

He’d spent every night apart from them, not daring to dream, not daring to think, that one day he might see them again.

He’d spent every night, forcing down his memories and his longing and dutifully ignoring the endless ache, and now he was back, and now he could breathe again.

“Welcome home, brother.” Azriel squeezed and then let go, stepping back to better survey the state of his High Lord.

“Honestly, you look better than I thought you would.” Cassian spoke, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rhysand raised a brow.

“That is to say, I was worried I would never see you again and I’m glad you’re alive.”

His heart thumped and dropped and nausea began to churn in his stomach.

“As flattering as that is, I’d rather talk about something else.”

A poor deflection, and a poor response to the openness Cassian offered. But it was all he had.

“Of course.” Cassian’s lips curved into a frown.

Mor stood from her seat in the corner. “I’m going to make some tea, I’ll see you boys later.”

She squeezed Rhys’ shoulder as she passed by.

“Rhys, there’s a bit of a situation with the Illyrian clans.” Azriel settled into the chair Mor had vacated.

“Oh?”

Cassian nodded. “Some camps have started an uprising. After being left to their own devices for so long, they no longer believe themselves to be subjected to your rule. Or mine, for that matter.”

This, this was something he could focus on. Something he could deal with.

“Well, then, we ought to go announce the good news. Their High Lord has come home.”


End file.
